You Know You're a Greaser, When
by Caseyrocksmore
Summary: A series of one-shots about what it means to be a Greaser or, at least, what it's like to be one. Timeline will jump around a lot. Told from different POVs. Read first A/N for more information. Please R&R!
1. You Steal, TwoBit

_A/N: This story will be permanently marked as 'COMPLETE', because this is a series of one-shots, and each story technically will be complete. The time-line will jump around a lot, anywhere from waaay pre-book to waaay post-book and everywhere in between, and don't expect it to be in chronological order, because it won't be. Not all the chapters will be Two-Bit's point of view. I'm going to try and get at least one chapter told by each Greaser (including Curly, if you can believe it), and it'll jump around POVs too. And most chapters probably won't be as long as this one. My chapters average around 1,000-2,500 words each, this one I just happened to get carried away with. :)  
Note: I named Two-Bit's sister Grace. I know several people also gave her this name, as I don't believe they ever mentioned what her name was in the book/movies... so if you think I stole your idea for her, I'm sorry. I honestly didn't mean to. I just like the name Grace.  
Disclaimer: Suzie (S.E.) Hinton is God. Therefore, she owns the Outsiders._

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**You Know You're a Greaser, When...**

**1: You Steal (Because You Can)**

After explaining my plans for the next few hours, I smiled mischievously, ignoring Darry's patronising glance in my direction. "Anyone wanna come?" I asked in my usual deep drawl, the smile plastered to my face. Dallas lit a cigarette and looked at me coolly, Ponyboy shrunk back a little as if I'd stung him, Darry continued his disapproving glare, Soda rolled his eyes and Steve grinned.

"I'll come with you Two-Bit," Steve said, grinning like a fool. "As long as you give me an hour or so to... wash up." He gestured unnecessarily to his ungreased hair and clean shirt. He'd just got back from 'going out' with his parents. The insisted they have a 'nice meal' once and a while, and so he had to dress up in a collar shirt and comb and wash his hair. Sure, because you know he looked _so nice_, all done up like that, supporting a _classy_ black eye and split lip from that little rumble he'd gotten into at the rodeo last night.

"Great! Anyone else?" I knew there wouldn't be any other takers. I'm the only real pickpocket in the group, though Steve is a good enough tag-along. He'd try anything once, as long as Soda didn't seriously disapprove and it wouldn't get him killed.

"No thanks, Two-Bit," Soda said almost sullenly, "We have to get Ponyboy home. There's school tomorrow."

"I know. I'm still goin', remember?"

Darry clicked his tongue, then turned on his heels and started walking out of the lot like it was on fire. Soda wouldn't have participated in my little plan even if he wanted to— Darry just wouldn't let him. Neither of Darrel Curtis's little brothers are allowed to do anything illegal, ever. Ever since their folks died, Darry's been making sure the State knows they're all goody-goody, so Pony and Soda don't get stuck in a boys' home.

"Okay then, Two-Bit. See you tomorrow," Pony said a little sarcastically before trotting off obediently after his big brother. Soda punched Steve in the shoulder gently and mumbled something along the lines of, '_If you get caught, it's your ass on the line. I won't be bailing you out again,_' to him before following.

I smiled again. "Go on, go get ready. I'll meet ya here in an hour. Better not be late, or I'm loning it." Steve grinned happily, then raced off to change. It was only Dallas and I left in the lot, with the grass up to our knees. He took a long drag on his cigarette, looking at me pointedly.

"Why do you think it's tough to steal stuff, kid?" he asked me, and I groaned. Dallas tended to call everyone 'kid,' even me; and I was almost a whole year older than him.

"I don't. I just think it's fun, is all." I kicked a rock lazily, watching it as it skittered out onto the street.

Dally just shook his head, taking another long drag. I didn't know what to make of that. Dally can be real mysterious when he wants to be. He gave me this look, and I didn't quite know what to make of that, either. It sure as hell wasn't envy or nothing; Dally wasn't jealous of me, and never would be. But it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I shivered slightly, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket.

"See ya later, Dal." I shuffled out of the lot pretty quickly, really not liking the look he was shooting me. I was planning on going to Buck's for a quick beer or two before Steve and I put my plan into action.

As I walked down the street— and I refuse to call my walk a 'swagger,' though maybe I was laying on the hood-walk a little thick— a blond girl outside of Bucks gave me the once-over. I completely ignored her and walked passed, ditching the idea of going to Buck's now, though my brain was telling me to run inside, grab a couple beers and take her upstairs. But I had plans, and with a pretty girl like that... no way I'd make it out in an hour.

How long had it been? It had to have been at least ten minutes. Maybe half an hour. Forty-five minutes, hopefully. I groaned. It probably hadn't been five. I was not an anxious person, but I could get myself kind of riled up if I had too much time on my hands. Like now. How long had Steve said he'd be?

"Hiya, Two-Bit!" I glanced over my shoulder, and I was quite surprised to see Evie smiling at me. She had a bag of heavy-looking shopping in each hand, and was walking in the same direction as I was, so I politely took them from her. They were a little heavier than I expected, but I had to do the gentlemanly thing for the lady— any girl who thought they knew me would be gasping if they heard that. '_But, Two-Bit, you already know she isn't going to sleep with you later! Why help her out?_' She wasn't going to sleep with me later. But, you know, she was a friend's girl, and I might as well help her out. I'm not all that bad a guy, really.

"Thanks. Have you seen Steve around? He back from that dinner thing with his parents yet? You know, he told me..." Blah blah blah. She was talking a mile a minute, asking more questions than I could wrap my head around, so I stayed silent. "Two-Bit?"

"Yeah, I seen him. He's changing and then me and him have plans." We were at her house by then, as it wasn't a far walk (nothing is all that far when all the houses are this close together), so I carried her groceries up the driveway too.

"Oh? What are you doin'?" She took the bags from me when we got to the porch, smiling gratefully.

"Nothing much. You probably don't wanna know about it anyway." She frowned.

"You're right. If it involves you two together, I probably don't." She smiled again. Evie has a really pretty smile; Steve was lucky to have a nice girl like that. "Good-night. Don't get Steve into too much trouble, you hear?"

"I won't. I'll take the heat if we get caught."

"You'd better." She gave a little wave as she entered the house, and the screen door slammed behind her loudly. I turned and started walking back in the direction of Buck's. The sun had just setting, tinting the sky pink along the horizon; it might have been an hour already, so I skipped the beer I had been planning even though the blonde was gone and walked right passed the bar, and back to the lot.

"Two-Bit, where have you been, man? I've been waiting for ya!" Steve said, grinning crookedly. "Never thought _you'd_ be late to an adventure." I shrugged.

"Lost track of time, for once. I was talkin' to Evie..." Steve frowned.

"Why were you talking to my girl, Two-Bit?" You could tell just by his voice he had that whole jealous-boyfriend-thing going on in the back of his head. I'd dealt with too many of those not to know what it looked like. I rolled my eyes.

"I ran into her, waiting for ya. I helped her carry her groceries to her door, is all. You know, you do have quite the girl there," I complimented as we walked towards my place. Steve grinned again, showing off his overlapping front teeth like they were made of gold.

"I know."

"Okay, so, listen here. We grab my car and take it South," I explained, watching as Steve's grin faded. This was the real reason no one else had been brave enough to help me. "I already scoped out the store— a little department store not that far from the school. I'll inform you of the rest of the plan when we get there, depending on who's workin'." I was trying to sound all spy-movie like, using words like 'inform' and crap like that. Steve ate it up though, rounding the corner and jogging up to my hunk of junk with me.

"An' ya don't think this thing won't get noticed in Soc territory?" He motioned to my car; it was light green with peeling paint and rustier than my hair, an older model than barely ran without a push-start.

"Naw. 'Course not. It'll be dark."

He climbed into the passenger's side, shaking his head. "I don' have a clue why I agreed to this," he groaned, and I grinned at him.

"For Gracie, remember. Now, give us a pushin' start and we'll be on our way." Steve got out of the car, leaving the door open, and jogged around to the back of the car. I started the ignition, and he gave the back end a mighty shove to get it moving. "Hop in and let's go!" I yelled over my shoulder just as Steve ran to the door and jumped into the now-moving car (though it was going at a snail's pace).

He closed the door and put on his seatbelt— I never saw much sense in using those things, but he and Soda always insisted on wearing them when they were in my car— and I took off at a more appropriate speed.

It wasn't all that long a drive, but by the time we neared the store I was talking about, the sun was hanging so low in the sky that the East was looking pretty dark, and the moon was up. We pulled into the parking lot and I cut the engine (the breaks working for once); the place was deserted, which was just fine for our plan, though it would've been a little more convenient for some other customers to be there to distract whoever was working.

I got out and walked to the window, glancing in and lighting up a cigarette. "So, what'm I supposed to do, exactly?" I took a long drag, then blew it out in his face.

"Cindy's working," I said, motioning toward the window. A plain, but overall okay-looking young brunette was sitting behind the counter, her nose buried in some fashion magazine. "Which is good for us, of course. She's a ditz, and a real flirt too." Steve sighed.

"I don't even wanna know how you find this stuff out." I smiled mischievously, taking another long drag.

"Research, you bum. I'm not as stupid as I act. She goes to our school." I offered him my pack of Kools, but he took the lit one from between my fingers instead and took a couple puffs to calm his nerves before handing it back. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, slipping my pack back into my jeans' pocket. "You're gonna distract her while I get my prize."

"Distract her? How?" he asked, glancing at the window again. I groaned.

"Flirt! Ask her prices and crap! Tell her she's really pretty! Ask her how her day was! Just distract her, it's really not all that difficult!" He looked nervous.

"Me? But I'm not a talker, Two-Bit. I got less charm than Darry does, and he hasn't had a girl since God knows when! Not to mention I look like I was just in a street-fight." I took a good look at his shiner and shrugged.

"Yeah, this probably would've worked better if you hadn't changed after all. Oh well! Just, improvise or somethin', okay? And we don't go in together. You go in first and talk to her, and I'll sneak in after a second."

"Evie'll have my head for flirting with another chick," he muttered and he shoved passed me to the door. He opened in angrily, but quickly put on his cheerful face and walked up to the counter. I pressed my nose to the glass to watch, dropping my finished smoke and crushing it under one boot.

She didn't even look up from her magazine when he leaned suggestively against the counter, making eyes at her. When she finally did, she gave him the once-over... and seemed to like what she saw. I shook my head and peeled myself away from the window. I never could see what girls saw in Steve. Sodapop, sure, he had all the good-looks and the charm of a gentleman, but Steve? Girls seemed to dig him anyway, even without all that stuff.

I opened the door slowly and winced when the bell tinkled— but Cindy didn't even notice. She was chewing loudly on her bubblegum and twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger, leaning over the counter towards Steve, who was pointing something out her in her magazine.

"_Oh_," she giggled, "So that's how that works. Gee, you sure are smart for a Greaser." Steve smiled triumphantly, then complimented her make-up. I shook my head. I would've picked something less obvious, or more 'romantic' like her eyes or something, especially because she was wearing far too much make-up in the first place.

She giggled again though, so I supposed it was working while I made my way to the back of the store, our of eyesight. Now, what to take? Stealing some higher-end stuff from a Soc store was all well and good, but I hadn't planned exactly what I wanted to steal. I had some idea, though...

"What do ten-year-old girls like?" I asked myself quietly, my eyes roaming over the merchandise. That had been the whole reason for my trip to the South Side, to get some decent stuff for Grace. It was her tenth birthday tomorrow, and I had absolutely nothing to give her. My mom might have forgotten— she was in a fragile state of mind, and often was a little loony about what day of the week or even what year it was— but I sure as hell wasn't gonna forget my kid sister's birthday.

I saw a china doll pretty high on the shelf in front of me. She looked like a mini-Soc— wearing a long yellow dress that went to her knees, and a white sweater tied around her neck— but she kind of looked like Gracie, if you looked passed that. The doll had red curly hair and big, brown eyes just like she did, and looked entirely breakable, just like my little sister. I stood on my tip-toes and took her down. I'm not all that tall a guy, but I managed to reach.

She was the perfect present, I decided, even if Grace was a little old to be playing with dolls. That didn't mean she wouldn't appreciate it. I looked at the price tag, just out of curiosity, and nearly swallowed my tongue. Seven dollars and fifty cents?! That was more than we spent on groceries in two weeks! I pulled off the tag and tucked the doll into my jacket, doing it up. The thing was huge on me, I think it was either my dad's or Mr. Curtis's at one point, so the doll was completely hidden once the zipper was up, and it didn't even leave an awkward lump. I did have to hold my one arm down across my stomach to hold her in place, but I did so casually, as if I had a couple of bruised ribs.

Steve was still talking up Cindy, who was eating up his every word, so I snagged some birthday candles for Grace's cake and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt for myself. What about Steve? He'd probably want something, too... and what with the candles in my pocket, the doll under my arm and the shirt up my sleeve I really didn't have all that much room left to hide stuff.

Something shiny caught my eye— a bunch of lighters and multi-tool pocket knives being displayed on the shelf not far from where Steve and Cindy were talking. I cautiously walked over to them, and inconspicuously tucked one of each into my other pocket, then began to look more closely on the other stuff on the shelf.

That's when Cindy noticed me for the first time.

"Hey!" she said, eying me suspiciously. I had a second knife in my hand that I had been inspecting, and I almost dropped it when she startled me. "Put that back and get out of this store, you hoodlum. There won't be none of your mischief in _this_ store." She shooed me off and then glared at Steve. "Were you in on this little scam?" she asked disapprovingly, and Steve shook his head as I shuffled off towards the door, trying to look sad that I had been 'caught'.

"No ma'am. Never seen that kid before in my life."

_Thanks a lot Steve,_ I thought, rolling my eyes as I pushed open the door and headed out to my car. I emptied my pockets onto Steve's seat, smiling with content. Not as big a haul as I could've got, but this was quality stuff. That multi-tool knife had all sorts of stuff in it, and it looked like it was made of real silver to boot.

Steve opened the door and gave me a grin. "What'd you make off with?" he asked, knowing full well that Cindy hadn't stopped me from stealing anything.

"Stuff. Here, choose," I said, offering him the knife and the silver-plated lighter. He examined oth of them, then took the knife.

"You already got the switch," he explained, "and you're lighter's shit anyway. Hey, neat, this thing has scissors and a screw driver!"

We drove home practically in silence, which was unheard of for me, while Steve examined his new toy and I thought about Gracie. It was kind of hard to drive with the doll still tucked in my jacket, but I wasn't sure I wanted Steve to see it. I mean, what would he think? That I was going soft? He knew I went there for stuff for Gracie, but a doll? It wasn't exactly tough.

I took the pack of candles out of my pocket and put them in the cup holder while we were sitting at a red light. It was a miracle I stopped for the thing; usually I just ran them for kicks, or because my breaks didn't want me to stop. Steve glanced at them when I put them down, but didn't comment. He knew it was Gracie's birthday.

I also took out my new Mickey shirt, draping it over one knee so it wasn't impairing my driving as much by being in my sleeve. Steve chuckled.

"I thought you was looking for a present for the baby sister?" he asked, chuckling.

"I got one," I told him as the light turned green. "S'right here." I tapped my jacket proudly.

Somehow I managed to get home without hitting anything, and I pulled into the driveway with a triumphant smile. Being stone-cold sober probably had something to do with that; no matter how many times you drive drunk, it never does get any easier. There were more little dents in my car than there was rust— and that says a lot. I'd never hit a person, though. Just light poles and fences and the occasional mailbox.

"Thanks for the action," Steve said coolly, putting his prize into the back pocket of his jeans. "That was kinda fun."

"You're welcome," I said, gathering up my stuff and getting out of the car. "See ya around, Steve." He nodded and raised his hand in good-bye before racing off down the street towards the Curtis's. I shook my head and walked up to the door of my house, reaching out for the door knob before I remembered that Ma always locked the door at night. And I didn't have my keys with me.

With a sigh, I knocked on the door. You never had to knock that the Curtis's; they'd get mad at you if you _did_, because it meant one of them had to get up and answer it.

Grace answered the door after a minute in her dressing gown, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Why are you still up, Gracie?" I asked kind of sternly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Because you woke me up, silly! Mom can sleep through a hurricane, I swear." She eyed me suspiciously, looking at where I was holding my side with a raised eyebrow, just like I'd taught her. "You get into a fight again?"

"No. Of course not. I promised I'd be good for your birthday, remember?"

"Then why...?"

I closed the door behind me and give her a big smiled. "I got you a present." Her eyes lit up.

"Can I have it?"

I looked at the clock. It was just after midnight. "It's your birthday now, so yeah." I unzipped my coat and pulled out the doll, watching as Grace's eyes lit up. I handed it to her, and she hugged it happily.

"She's so _pretty_," she said in bewilderment, patting the doll's hair gently and smoothing down the messed-up curls (maybe keeping her in my jacket hadn't been such a hot idea). "What's her name?"

"Well, you could name her Grace Junior, if you wanted. She looks just like you, see? Red hair and brown eyes, just like my little Gracie." I pointed these facts out to my sister while putting an arm around her shoulders, as if she hadn't noticed. She frowned.

"No. She doesn't look like a Grace. She looks like a..." She scrutinized the doll in the half-dark of the foyer. "She looks like a... Hope." I grinned.

"Hope Mathews it is. Now, go on! Get! It's way passed your bedtime." I shooed her upstairs and into her room, where she jumped into bed and cuddled Hope while grinning like a Mathews.

"Thanks, Two-Bit," she mumbled as she closed her eyes tiredly.

"G'night, Munchkin," I whispered, closing her door quietly and leaning against the wall. I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose.

Why did I think stealing was tough? Dally's words came back to me, making my head spin. I looked at Gracie's closed door, a smile tugging at my lips. _Because it gets us what we need_, I thought, answering Dally's question. _Because sometimes, when we have nothing at all and the world's crashing down on our shoulders, we just need a little Hope._

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_What's to come (hopefully):_

_1: You Steal (Because You Can)  
2: You Steal (Because You Have To)  
3: You Feel Stuff Real Deep (But You Can't Show It)  
4: Your Friends Matter (More Than Anything, Even Yourself)  
5: Money Doesn't Matter (Because You Don't Have Any, Anyway)  
6: The Police Hate You (Without Ever Even Meeting You)  
7: You Hunt For Action (Because You Need It To Feel Alive)  
8: Your Couch is Their Couch (Because They Have Nowhere Else To Go)  
9: Jokes Keep You Going (When There's Nothing Else To Laugh At)  
10: Beer is a Necessity (Because It Washes Away All The Shit That's Happened to You)  
11: Love is Tough To Find (Because Everyone is Too Good For You)  
12: Death Can Break You (But You'd Never Admit It)  
13: Jobs Are Hard to Come By (Because Everyone Knows Your Reputation)  
14: You're Not Afraid (Unless Someone Has a Gun)  
15: Knives Stay Clean (Unless You Get Blood On Them)  
16: You Stick Up For Other Greasers (No Matter What)  
17: You Like Fights (For Assorted Reasons)  
18: You Have Blood On Your Hands (And You Can't Wash Them Clean)  
19: No One Understands You (Except Other Greasers)_

_A/N2: Feel free to guess whose POV each chapter will be written by, if you want. Also, Reviews are not only welcome, but very much encouraged! (I might even go as far as to beg for them...) And if you don't see a topic on the list above you think should be, tell me in a review and I'll think about adding it._

_Thanks in advance,_

_Casey (BugFan4Ever)_


	2. You Steal, Johnny

_A/N: I am absolutely thrilled with how positive the reaction to this story has been! A special thank-you to Ember411, Ava, JohnnyCadesChick, LOVEPatraickSwayze, hauntedpumpkin56, and fanficfanatic12 for your thoughtful reviews; they really mean a lot to me. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, even if it turned out a little shorter than I planned. -_- I apologise for that. Also, any spelling/grammar/continuity errors are my fault (I don't have a Beta, other than myself), and if you could please point them out in a review, I'd be grateful.  
Disclaimer: Suzie (S.E.) Hinton is God. Therefore, she owns the Outsiders.  
Without further adieu, here's chapter two:_

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**2: You Steal (Because You Have To)**

"Get out! Just get out, you worthless piece of shit!" Mom had the broom out and whacked me across the back of the knees with it as I scurried out the door like the place was on fire. And in my head, it was. When Mom started drinking, there was no stopping her, like an endless inferno of rage. "You screwed up _everything_! Get out! Out! Out!"

I already _was_ out. I was out, and racing up the street as fast as my skinny, bruised legs would carry me.

The lot was empty when I got there, panting like a dog. Sweat made my shirt cling to my back, though it was a cool night for September. I shivered as a gust of wind blew through the lot, nearly making me stumble I was so weak. I was weak and tired and battered and hungry. Sometimes, I hate that woman.

I shivered again, wishing to hell I'd brought my jacket. It was my only one, and I usually keep it on at all times, but I'd been asleep when my Mom got home, screeching loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood. You can't sleep in a bed wearing your jean jacket; it's uncomfortable to do so.

I started walking, hoping that would warm me up, but it did nothing but make the bruises on my knees ache more. My stomach growled ominously, and normally I would've gone to the Curtis's, but I'd already bummed three dinners off them this week, and it didn't feel right to always take and not give them anything in return. I mean, it wasn't like there'd be any food in our fridge at home, and I was taking theirs just because I could. I really did need it, sometimes. There was never anything but half-drunken beers and mouldy cheese in my fridge.

I was nearing the twenty-four-hour supermarket, which was in the neutral zone. The houses around here were on the nicer-side, a little shabby but well-kept like the Curtis's as opposed to ours, but weren't quite as showy as Soc houses. Middle-class folks usually looked down on us a little, but some of them could be tolerant of people like us. But they sure weren't Socs.

I dug around in my pockets, hoping to find a dime to buy myself something to eat. I couldn't find one. I'd already spent the quarter Mom gave me during one of her few sober moments for food this week.

My stomach rumbled painfully, and I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Being twelve years old on the North side was hard enough, without practically starving yourself. I was almost too weak to think straight. I tried to think of the last time I had a decent meal. I bit my lip. ...Two days ago, I had spaghetti with the Curtis's.

I walked into the store anyway, nervous as a wreck. My hands were shaking, so I stuffed them in my pockets. Usually there'd be someone around to borrow money off of, but Dallas was in the cooler again (I still don't know how a thirteen-year-old can get in so much trouble, but he manages it), and Two-Bit had gone to the movies to look for girls. The Curtis brothers would be at home, probably getting ready for bed after eating dinner with their parents, of course. My stomach growled even worse at the thought.

So I was alone. Not a single person even bothered to glance at me. And why would they? I'm not exactly the prettiest thing to look at, what with my greasy hair and too-large clothes hanging off my little frame. I could pass for a nine-year-old if I wanted to. I've never looked my age. Most of the guys described me as looking like a drowned rat half the time, but I never complained or anything. I do look like a drowned rat. Who cares what I look like, anyhow? I sure didn't.

It was past eleven, but the supermarket was hopping anyway. They were having a sale on some new kind of potato chips, and there was a big crowd hanging around the table on which they were placed. It was a kind of big, rectangular pyramid of chip bags, though it was more like half a pyramid now, because everyone was grabbing a couple of bags and shoving them into their carts as they passed.

I wandered into the crowed area around the table, getting lost in it just like I knew I would. I'd done this before. Nobody looked at me as I gently nudged my way forward, then bent down and grabbed a half-crushed bag of the chips off the floor. Nobody noticed as I tucked it under my t-shirt, though it left a sizable lump on my stomach that didn't suit me at all (I was far too small to have that much paunch). Nobody noticed as I walked out of the store, stolen food hidden under my clothes.

I'd done this before, but only twice. If I was really desperate, I suppose even stealing sounds like a good idea. Doesn't mean I didn't feel lousy about it, though. Because I did. I felt awful as I sat on the curb a few blocks away, eating food that didn't belong to me. My heart was heavy in my chest, but my stomach stopped complaining as much. It still had the empty feeling, but I was no longer in pain, once I put something in it.

I emptied the last of the crumbs from the bottom of the bag into my hungry mouth, licking my lips and folding up the bag carefully. They'd tasted like dirt in my mouth. Not because this new flavour was bad or anything; I bet they tasted real nice to the folks who had actually paid for them. But I hadn't, and the guilt was leaving a bad taste in my mouth all on its own.

I felt cold again and shivered, wrapping my arms around myself in a futile attempt to preserve my body heat. Walking back towards the lot was a little better than walking to the store, I decided, because the wind had died down, but it was still rather cool out. My legs ached, but I forced myself to walk the extra block back to my house, rather than curl up under some newspaper or in a grassy corner of the lot; I'd freeze to death if I stayed out wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a loose pair of my dad's old work-pants.

My street was silent as I approached our house. It was almost _too_ silent; eerily so. There were no sounds of breaking glass or yelling or banging around disrupting the stillness of the night as there normally would be when either or both of my parents had been drinking. I cautiously crept up the stairs and peered into the living room through the screen door.

My mom was lying passed out on the couch, a beer bottle held loosely in one hand. It usually took a heck of a lot of alcohol to have that effect on her, so I assumed she'd probably been drinking something stronger earlier in the evening, before kicking me out. I didn't see my father, but I could hear one of his records placing quietly in the basement, and I could imagine him sitting in his favourite chair down there, beer in hand, watching the television and enjoying his music drunkenly. He was surprisingly quiet, but I didn't push my luck to go and check if he was down there.

I tip-toed to my bedroom and closed the door softly behind me. My room was the only place in my house I felt relatively safe in, which was odd, because half the time I woke up to someone hitting me with a household object when I slept there. But it was _my _room, and I guess there was something comforting in that.

I sat down on my bed and sighed, wrapping my arms around my knees, and burring my face in them, trying to hold back tears. This was no way to be living. Being afraid of coming home, having to steal just to keep yourself going; that was no way for a kid to live. But it was _my_ life. It's not like I was all that proud of it, but it was _mine_. And I suppose there's something comforting in _that_, too, because I drifted off to sleep while thinking of it.

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_INDEX:  
1: You Steal (Because You Can)  
2: You Steal (Because You Have To)  
3: You Feel Stuff Real Deep (But You Can't Show It)  
4: Your Friends Matter (More Than Anything, Even Yourself)  
5: Money Doesn't Matter (Because You Don't Have Any, Anyway)  
6: The Police Hate You (Without Ever Even Meeting You)  
7: You Hunt For Action (Because You Need It To Feel Alive)  
8: Your Couch is Their Couch (Because They Have Nowhere Else To Go)  
9: Jokes Keep You Going (When There's Nothing Else To Laugh At)  
10: Beer is a Necessity (Because It Washes Away All The Shit That's Happened to You)  
11: Love is Tough To Find (Because Everyone is Too Good For You)  
12: Death Can Break You (But You'd Never Admit It)  
13: Jobs Are Hard to Come By (Because Everyone Knows Your Reputation)  
14: You're Not Afraid (Unless Someone Has a Gun)  
15: Knives Stay Clean (Unless You Get Blood On Them)  
16: You Stick Up For Other Greasers (No Matter What)  
17: You Like Fights (For Assorted Reasons)  
18: You Have Blood On Your Hands (And You Can't Wash Them Clean)  
19: No One Understands You (Except Other Greasers)_

_A/N2: Again, feel free to guess whose POV each chapter will be written by, if you want. Reviews are not only welcome, but very much encouraged! (I might even go as far as to beg for them...) And if you don't see a topic on the list above you think should be, tell me in a review and I'll think about adding it. Also, if you're wondering why Johnny went home in the end, consider this: he's a lot younger, and much more innocent/gullible than his future self, probably still believing that his parents want him, deep down. _

_Thanks in advance,_

_Casey (BugFan4Ever)_


	3. You Feel Stuff Real Deep, Sodapop

_A/N: A special thanks to Nolie, FanFicFanatic12, Ember411, Ava and Canadian Belle for their wonderful reviews. I really appreciate it! This chapter was written a little faster than the others, and I really didn't have time to re-read it thoroughly, so any mistakes are my own... feel free to point them out, and I'll fix them if I can. Also, you don't have to read the letter at the beginning to get the story, so feel free to skip over it if you get bored. If I think about it, it kind of does feel a little pointless. Again, this was written quickly in a free-writing session, so it might not be quite as good as the other two, but I'm trying, okay? I hope I kept everyone in character... and if the next chapter comes a little later, I'm sorry. I wrote chapter eighteen first, if you can believe it, so I haven't even started four yet. -sweatdrop- SORRY. ;)  
Disclaimer: Suzie (S.E.) Hinton is God. Therefore, she owns the Outsiders. _

* * *

**3: You Feel Stuff Real Deep (But You Can't Show It)**

_Sodapop,_

_I know I left without much warning. Maybe telling you I was off to Florida that night before we left wasn't the smartest idea, but can you blame me? You asked me to marry you! Soda, we're children. We can't get married. You can't get married at sixteen! Well, I mean, you can, but we can't. Soda, something horrible has happened, and I can't marry you. As much as I want to be Mrs. Sodapop Curtis, which is a lot, I just can't. I'm sorry._

_I know I told you I was pregnant. I know you got down on one knee. I know I said the baby wasn't yours. That wouldn't have mattered to you? Sometimes, I think you need really to grow up, and others, I sincerely hope that you don't change one bit._

_We're putting the baby up for adoption. My grandmother thinks she can find a nice family that'll take him (or her) even though he (or she) was created out of wedlock. But Soda, you got to believe me, I didn't meant to break your heart. You probably hate me, and you have good reason to. I slept with another boy, even if I was drunk at the time._

_You see, I went to this party. I would've invited you to come, but the girl who was holding it was middle-class... I know that doesn't make a difference. I don't care about money, and neither do you, but she convinced me to let you stay home. I don't drink, usually, but one of the boys spiked the punch, and I was so nervous, being somewhere without you, that I drank like half the bowl and ended up acting more stupid than Two-Bit when he has a few._

_Do I regret it? Yes. If I could turn back time, I wouldn't have gone. Soda, I'm sorry I'm doing this to you, honest. The boy practically took advantage of me... it doesn't matter. It was my fault for drinking, and for going to the party in the first place. It was stupid of me. Soda, I'm sorry._

_I just wanted you to know the whole story. Please don't try to contact me; I'm barely making it through this, and reading a letter from you, or hearing your voice on the telephone might just break me. I feel guilty about what's happened. If you send me a letter, I swear, I won't read it. It'll be easier this way, Soda. I loved you, but I can't anymore. What's happened cannot be undone, so it's probably best if we forget the past completely and start new._

_I still love you. I think I'll always love you. We just can't be together anymore, see? It wouldn't be right. I hurt you, and that's not right at all. I'm so, so sorry Sodapop, but I can't ever see you again._

_Good-bye,_

_Sandy_

I touched the page and felt a tear roll silently down my cheek. I would have married her anyway. It wasn't her fault. I could forgive her, because I loved her that much. My whole world was shattering, and as much as I tried to hold it all together, I couldn't.

I folded the letter carefully and put it on the bedside table. Reading it again wouldn't change the words. She never wanted to see me again, because she felt guilty. I would have taken her back in an instant. I didn't have that luxury.

I turned out the light and lay back on the bed, letting my tears fall freely. I always tried to smile through my pain, always. And it worked, sometimes. Sometimes I could smile and forget that Mom and Dad weren't coming home. But not now. This had cut too deep into an already bruised heart to be forgotten so fast. I couldn't just get over it.

But I had to be strong for Darry. I was the glue holding the gang together, at this point; what with Johnny and Ponyboy missing and all. I'd written a letter and given it to Dally for Ponyboy. I knew he knew where they were. He'd gotten them a hideout somewhere. Two-Bit was convinced they were in Texas, but I knew better. They might even still be in Tulsa, though I doubted it. And it's not like that eased the worry or the pain at all.

Too fast, too soon, too hard. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and no one seemed to notice. No Sandy, no Pony, no Johnny, no mom and dad; who was there left to lean on? Steve wasn't the cry-on-my-shoulder type, and as much as I loved Darry, I had to be strong for him. I had to be the smile when he'd had a tough day at work, _especially_ now that my baby brother was missing and on the run from the police.

It wasn't fair. I reached my arm across the bed, as though expecting Pony to be there. He wasn't. I hugged his pillow, burring my face in it to try and stem the flow of tears. I slowly felt myself drift to sleep, my heart still aching to have a real person in my arms, rather than the feather-filled substitute.

--

"Soda, I'm _not _going to tell you again!" Darry's voice was rough, and he shook my shoulder as if to make his point. I hadn't heard him the first time. "Up!" He sounded hard. Almost like Dally, hard. It was scary how much he'd changed the last few days.

Ponyboy was missing, and I could tell how much it was affecting him. His usually cool blue eyes were dark and sad, and the worry lines in his forehead had increased ten-fold. I had to make like everything was okay and try to help him through this, or he wasn't going to make it. I had to be the strong one, just like always. I _had_ to.

"What's from breakfast?" I asked sleepily, giving him a forced grin. No one can tell and easy smile from a forced one with me, and I knew it.

He looked at me a little softer than he had before, and said, "Chocolate cake, again, as long as Two-Bit didn't finish it off last night."

"Nah, he was too busy making plans to go to Texas." My joking tone cut deeper into the already gaping hole in my chest. How could I make light of Pony and Johnny been missing? And yet, if I were to be strong for the others, how could I not?

Darry ruffled my hair and left the bedroom, probably going to take a quick shower before work. I'd never seen him like this before, and it was scaring me a little.

--

The phone rang that afternoon, just as I was taking my break. "S'your turn," I yelled over my shoulder to Steve, who hopped the counter and picked up the receiver. His face turned from pleasant-worker to shocked-and-concerned-friend in a second. I knew something was wrong, so I walked back up to the counter, leaning over it anxiously, trying to hear the voice on the other end of the line over our combined breathing.

"What is it?" I asked breathlessly, watching his face. I knew Steve Randle like I knew the back of my hand, but this expression was hard to place. He offered me the phone and I took it.

"Soda?" I'd recognise Darry's voice anywhere, but he sounded different than he had the last few days. He sounded even more scared. "I'm coming to pick you up in half a second. They found the boys. They're in the hospital."

"Darry, what—?" The line went dead, and I stared at the phone. Both relief and panic settled in my stomach. _They'd been found. _But what did that mean? Darry sounded scared, and he said they were in the hospital. That couldn't be good.

"I've gotta go," I told Steve, and he nodded gravely as I raced out the front door and down to the street to wait for Darry. He really was there in a second; he must've been speeding. He pulled up alongside the curb and I jumped in as soon as he stopped. We were moving again before I'd even put on my seatbelt.

"What's going on?" I asked, still sounding breathless.

"A church fire in Windrixville. They're burned, I guess. I don't really know. They didn't have much information, other than it's Pony and Johnny and Dally."

The hospital wasn't all that far away, and we got there pretty quickly. Darry parked and jumped out, walking briskly up to the hospital doors, not even waiting for me to get out of the car. I jumped out and ran after him, even making it into the building faster. Darry asked the first nurse we saw where our brother was, and she pointed us to the left. I took off running; I didn't really know why, I just needed to see my baby brother. I needed to know that he was okay. So when I saw him, looking completely different (yet pretty much unscathed, thank God) in a waiting room chair, I almost broke down crying. But I didn't. I didn't, because I had to be strong for them. So I grinned and said, "Ponyboy!" as he jumped from the chair and ran to give me a hug.

I wrapped my arms around his back and grinned, biting back tears. He was safe. Safe, alive, and home. That was all that mattered, but instead of saying so, I mumbled, "Oh, look at your tuff hair," jokingly, as though that would make everything better. As if joking and smiling could heal a broken heart, or two.

Darry was standing off to the side, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Pony?" he asked, and Pony let go of me to run to him, saying, "Darry!" in a teary, desperate voice. "Darry, I'm sorry, Darry." I'd never seen the big man break down like he did then. He practically crushed Ponyboy in a hug so tight it could break steel, his face contorted into an expression of pain, tears in his eyes.

"I thought we lost you like we did mom and dad," he sobbed, and I leaned my head against Pony's, trying to comfort both of my brothers. I put my hand on Darry's shoulder then let it drop, and he grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer into the group hug. "You sure look funny," he said, trying to joke as a tear rolled down his cheek. I laughed and hug my brothers, trying to hold back my own tears.

As we drove home, Pony asleep in the back seat, I thought long and hard. I was fragile. My state of mind right now was fragile, and my heart was too. I'd barely been able to hand all of the emotional pressure, but now that everything was okay, I could heal. As long as nothing else happened, everything could go back to normal.

But I had a bad feeling that something else _would_ happen. Something would happen, because my whole world wasn't through falling apart yet. That scared me, because I was fragile. If something else happened, I would break down, and let everyone down. I was fragile, and there was nothing I could do about it.

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_INDEX:  
1: You Steal (Because You Can)  
2: You Steal (Because You Have To)  
3: You Feel Stuff Real Deep (But You Can't Show It)  
4: Your Friends Matter (More Than Anything, Even Yourself)  
5: Money Doesn't Matter (Because You Don't Have Any, Anyway)  
6: The Police Hate You (Without Ever Even Meeting You)  
7: You Hunt For Action (Because You Need It To Feel Alive)  
8: Your Couch is Their Couch (Because They Have Nowhere Else To Go)  
9: Jokes Keep You Going (When There's Nothing Else To Laugh At)  
10: Beer is a Necessity (Because It Washes Away All The Shit That's Happened to You)  
11: Love is Tough To Find (Because Everyone is Too Good For You)  
12: Death Can Break You (But You'd Never Admit It)  
13: Jobs Are Hard to Come By (Because Everyone Knows Your Reputation)  
14: You're Not Afraid (Unless Someone Has a Gun)  
15: Knives Stay Clean (Unless You Get Blood On Them)  
16: You Stick Up For Other Greasers (No Matter What)  
17: You Like Fights (For Assorted Reasons)  
18: You Have Blood On Your Hands (And You Can't Wash Them Clean)  
19: No One Understands You (Except Other Greasers)_

_A/N2: Again, feel free to guess whose POV each chapter will be written by, if you want. Also, Reviews are not only welcome, but very much encouraged! (I might even go as far as to beg for them...) And if you don't see a topic on the list above you think should be, tell me in a review and I'll think about adding it._

_Thanks in advance,_

_Casey (BugFan4Ever)_


End file.
